Stubborn Like Shrapnel
by karrenia
Summary: Peter Petrelli fully expected to die after he literally went boom over the skies of New York City. Crossover with Firefly.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Heroes is the creation of Tim Kring and NBC Television, it is not mine.

Firefly is the creation of Joss Whedon and the WB network. Set post events in the movie : "Serenity."

Again, neither of the two universes or characters belong to me; they are only borrowed for the purposes of the story.

Notes: Written for limmenel's request in the Heroes Summer Hiatus Crossover Ficathon.

"Stubborn Like Shrapnel" by Karen

The space he occupied at this moment did not feel much like a place, more a waiting time. Peter Petrelli kept his eyes tightly shut, his breathing even and regular, wondering if dying felt like this.

It was funny, really, he had studied to be a hospice nurse, so when his number came up he should have anticipated that it would feel different for everyone.

The explosion that would have taken out .07 of the population of New York City, when he, for lack of a better description, spontaneously combusted,. He knew it would hurt, and he had long ago resigned himself to that, instead, he felt nothing.

In the back of his mind, Peter thought, "Could someone tell whatever powers that be that might be listening, that they've got this dying stuff all wrong!'

It suddenly crossed his mind to think of his brother, Nathan. Here he was, floating in the blank white nothingness, if his brother, Nathan, who had flown him above the city, high enough to keep the fall out from the explosion to a minimum.

"I hope Nathan managed to get away at the last second." Peter muttered under his breath..

"Nathan," he tried to say, but it came out as only as an unspoken thought in the silence of his own mind.

Peter's drifting conscious mind suddenly sustained a jolt of cold air, and he could at last feel his body. Reassured at last, that he was not dead, Peter Petrelli heaved a sigh and figured that it would do little good for him to fight against the tide, and let it take him where it would.

"What the hell?" was his last spoken thought before the calm, white noise gave way to heat, and light. Peter suddenly blinked and when he could open his eyes, he very much wished to have remained ignorant. He was floating high above what appeared to be nub lea, one only found in the inky blackness of outer space. 'Someone, anyone, tell me that I'm dreaming all of this.' Peter thought before his mind gave way to the pressure of too much stimuli and shut down.

Meanwhile

At the far side of a stellar cluster a much battered and jurry-rigged cargo ship had been

cruising along, just a few parsecs from a stellar cluster, off the more frequently traveled

space lanes nearest the planet Persephone. At the helm, was the girl that several months ago the Alliance would have done anything to get their hands on, River Tam.

River had considered inputting a course correction and taking the time to investigate the stellar cluster.

If nothing else, it was oddly shaped, a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns that did not

occur often in this part of the 'verse, and somehow, either by its very nature, it felt right, it felt like this particular cloud of gas, microscopic dust, light and heat; belonged there.

She had one finger of her right hand hovering over the button on the console of the helm ready to press down and change course, when the ship was rocked by a solid thud. It felt much like something small but solid struck the hull.

River reached up and pulled down the communication system to speak to her captain, "Mal, Sir, did you feel that?"

"Yeah," Captain Mal Ryenolds replied via the established communication link.

"Tell me, do we experience turbulence in outer space now, or is this something new?"

"I do not know," River replied, "but if you hum a few bars maybe I will pick up the tune."

"Well, we're running mighty low on fuel reserves," Mal suggested, "and we've got a powerful need to be picking up more in the way of jobs."

"Captain," River added. "I would like to change course to check a stellar cluster, might I have your permission?"

"Huh?" Mal replied. "Sure, why the hell not. Go ahead. I'll be going down to the engine room and have a pow-wow with Kaylee, and see what's what. In the meantime, it's all shiny."

"Aye, Aye, Captain. I shall, then." River thumbed the communication link closed and replacing it back in its cradle.

Meanwhile, inside of the small infirmary that Simon Tam had set up on one of the decks, had not seen use in recent weeks, not since Hoban "Wash" Washburne's tragic death.

The infirmary was still something about being in a place that orderly and clean, and a small reminder of the home and the career that he had enjoyed while still working as a doctor in one of the most prestigious clinics within the Alliance-affiliated worlds, gave Simon Tam something to occupy his time.

When a prone , comatose and nearly asphyxiated body of an adult male suddenly appeared on one of his examination tables, Simon Tam could not have been more astonished.

His training as a doctor had not completely deserted him, after all for the year or more that he had lived and worked aboard the Serenity, with the disparate and oddly loyal group of friends that Captain Mal Reynolds had often referred to as 'family' he had seen been the one to patch up their injuries; and they had sustained plenty of them.

His first task was get the young man, male, Caucasian human, and in either in his late twenties or early thirties, lungs to remember how to function properly once more.

"One crisis at a time," Simon Tam muttered under his breath, walking over to counter where he had placed his black medical kit, and then over to where his patient lay.

The dark brown hair had been matted down, leaving only one stray strand to flop over and down across the bridge of the young man's nose.

In the back of his mind, Simon wondered if he should have informed the Mal of the possible intruder, but then dismissed the thought. After all, if the stranger had intended harm to any member of the crew, he certainly was in no condition to do anything about it.

"I know you can't hear me right now, Mr. John Doe," Simon said soothingly and quietly to his new patient, but I'm going to help you."

Simon approached the bed, checked for vital signs, pulse, blood pressure, and then immediately began hooking up the patient to a respirator, the priority at the moment was to get the young man's lungs remembering how to breath properly again.

"And how did you get here, I wonder," Simon asked, knowing better than to accept a response to his question.

Peter stirred on the bed, realizing that for the moment he was out of danger, the noise and the feeling that he was going to suffocate at any moment had paused, and he could actually breathe. He just was afraid that if he opened his eyes again, he was going to be swallowed up by that terrible pitch blackness once again.

Encounter

"Welcome back," Simon greeted the groggy, disoriented but very much alive young man who had suddenly sat bolt upright on the examination table.

"Where the hell am I?" the young man demanded.

"Here." Simon waved his arms in a broad sweep across the confines of the infirmary.

"Yeah, could you be more specific," Peter griped.

"You're in the infirmary, more specifically, since you asked so nicely, you're aboard the Serenity," Simon replied.

"Serenity, huh. That's nice. Who the hell are you?" Peter demanded.

"I'm the doctor, or at least I fill that capacity," Simon said.

Peter shook his head. "Am I dead? Somehow this is not exactly how I imagined the afterlife."

"Funny, very funny," Simon replied. "You know, I've been in this profession a long time, long enough to know that if it has a face of a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, stop me if you've heard this one before."

"It most likely is a duck," Peter dully responded. "Just what are you driving at?"

"I read about this particular phenomena, and in a few rare instances I've even witnessed it with my own eyes. Simon remarked as he set down his medical kit and his bio-scanner and then turned back to face the man on the bed.

"Let's just say, Mr. John Doe, that in all my years of practicing medicine, I have never seen a performance quite like yours."

"Why do you keep calling me, John Doe?" Peter asked, a little hazily as he tried to concentrate on what the older man was saying and not sure he could given the cobwebs in his head that kept getting in the way.

"Would you prefer to settle for 'Hey You, or perhaps Patient Zero instead?" Simon asked.

"Peter Petrelli."

"Fair enough," Simon nodded. "Simon Tam."

The face that appeared on the monitor screen was one Malcolm Reynolds would either very much like to never have seen again, or if had come to a matter of choice, would have dearly loved to punch a few times and then shove into the mud of some out-of the way planet in the fringe worlds and leave him there.

It was rather satisfying, and considering that their previous encounter had nearly gotten both himself and his crew killed, it was an urge that was almost but not quite overwhelming in its intensity. Mal shook his head and calmed down long enough to focus in on what the other man was saying:

"Captain Reynolds, always a pleasure," the Operative greeted. "I must say, you are looking well. As much I wish that I could say that this was a social call, urgent matters have come to my attention. I must speak with Dr. Tam. And, please, let's not waste anyone's valuable time by playing idle cat and mouse games, or in denying that both brother and sister are still aboard your ship, hmm?"

Mal grunted, an inarticulate sound that could have been interpreted as neither assent or disagreement with that previous statement. "It grates on my every last nerve, the utter arrogance of that man,," he muttered under his breath to Zoe. Turning back to face the screen, Mal, said, "As you've said, we could dart around the main issue until we both too old and grey to worry about it anymore, so, old bean, why don't we cut to the chase, and find out what you're really after, how about it."

"The verse, as you and yours so quaintly put it," the Operative replied. "Is a strange place, and often a dangerous one. I understand that you have recently suffered a loss in your, shall we say, quirky little family, and you have my condolences. Mr. Wasburn was a fine pilot and a good man."

"Stuff your condolences out of the nearest airlock," Mal growled.

"Charming as ever," the other replied. "Getting back to the matter at hand. I am here, to present to Dr. Tam an unique proposition."

"What kind of proposition?" Mal asked, curious in spite of his natural and well-honed distrust of anything agents of the Alliance or their people said or did. "I'm all ears, like an old-Earth jackrabbit."

"Cute. Where do you come up with these little sayings?" the Operative waved his hands in front of him. "Never mind, I do not wish to know. The point is, I wish to offer Dr . Tam and his sister, safe haven on any planet of their choosing, he will then be offered a chance to resume his interrupted medical profession."

"Sounds too good to be true," Zoe muttered.

There was a brief lull in the conversation when Simon Tam came running in, his face flushed and his normally immaculately combed hair in disarray; that disheveled state was one that the rest of the crew only saw when Simon's sister, River was in danger, or otherwise threatened. "How dare you make any decisions regarding River and myself!"

"Sounds too damn gorram good to be true," Mal said.

"That means it usually is," Peter whispered, having caught the tail end of the conversation.

"What's the catch?" demanded Zoe.

"Regardless of what you might believe of the Alliance and their methods, Captain Reynolds, River Tam's condition is not something that her brother can handle on his own, and given the limited resources of your ship, it's only a matter of time before he condition destabilizes to the point where it will become uncontrollable."

"So? Sounds to me like a polite and sleazy way of saying that the Alliance wants its little experiment returned to them. Well, I've got news for you, sport, with Wash gone, she's the only pilot I've got."

The Operative leaned back in his cockpit of his ship, lacing his the fingers of both hands together. "How you and your crew have managed to stay alive as long as you have, is a mystery that I feel I shall never unravel." The Operative smiled, confident that he had the situation well under control, that all possible contingencies had been accounted for, when he suddenly noticed, standing in the far back corner, the lower left quarter of his screen was a face he did not recognized.

He had always considered a consummate agent, always under control, always aware of his surroundings, with a razor-sharp awareness for the minutest of details, and instincts to match.

He initiated a sub-vocalized command to his ship's computers to zoom on the lower left quarter of his screen, to focus on the face of the human male, dark-haired and dark eyes, ranging in age from the late twenties to early thirties, medium build and height.

Under other circumstances the Operative would have dismissed the stranger as 'not a threat' and moved on to other business.

However, there was something indefinable and arresting about this brown eyes, a look that he had only seen once in another, and that other had been River Tam. Those eyes had seen and experienced far more than it revealed.

Meanwhile, aboard the Serenity. Mal and Simon stood opposite each other and engaged in a glaring match, with Zoe standing by to act as both referee and should the occasion arise, to knock them both back to their senses with a well-placed fist to the jaw.

Shaking off the uncomfortable resemblance to River Tam, he briefly toyed with the idea of demanding that both the Tams and the stranger be included in his list of demands, but then discarded it. In the back of his mind, the Operative considered, 'Really, how much of threat could he possibly be? Although, when I return to Alliance headquarters I must remember to check the Central Archives database, just be to certain.'

Aloud he said, "Dr. Tam, whatever attachments you have to Captain Reynolds and his crew, consider for the moment, the welfare of your sister. I realize that you have more than a few perseverations about the Alliance, and that is quite understandable, but really, the offer is quite legitimate."

"I don't know," Simon muttered. "I don't know if I can trust you."

"Several billion light years away from everything and everyone I ever knew, and I still can't get people to leave me alone," griped Peter staring into the face on the monitor screen.

"You know this guy?" Zoë Warren suspiciously asked, turning to Peter.

"Uh, we're not acquainted, but I…" Peter sighed and reached up to brush away the lock of dark hair that dipped down to get into his eyes. "Oh, Damn it, what the hell, I don't know anything."

"But nothing, sport," Mal interrupted. "He ain't here for you, and speaking for my single and singular self. This feller has some nerve coming back and pestering and harassing me and mine."

"Is he always like this?" Peter asked Simon who stood beside him.

Zoe nodded and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her slacks. "This is a slow day."

Meanwhile Mal rambled on, pausing now and then for responses from the pilot of the other ship. "We've got unfinished business, but the Alliance made us a deal, they'd leave the Tams alone, and it seems to me, that my crew would also be included as part of that deal."

Interlude (Flashback) earth-that was, Present Day

Nathan Petrelli stood alone at the entrance to his campaign headquarters, arms folded across his chest, frowning. The frown had a little to do with the recent article in the paper announcing that he was a least six points behind in the polls with the election less than three weeks away.

While Nathan could take situations like that in stride, no, the frown was caused more from both mingled anger and worry for his missing and headstrong younger brother.

Nathan was a realist, he had to be, from a very young age, and taking care of his brother had simply been a responsibility that he took seriously and felt right, regardless of what anyone else thought of it.

Dropping everything and rushing off to Odessa, Texas the moment that he got the call that Peter had been injured and possibly dying, had jolted him out of an inertia of purposed that Nathan had never even realized had been there. It was as if Peter's need has become his need.

The only problem, of course, was the fact the Peter's latest obsession, ;save the cheerleader, save the world, was well, to put it mildly, just too screwball crazy, to be taken seriously, Peter believed it, believed it to the point where he would risk his own life for a stranger.

The way things were going of late, that random stranger just turned out to be his own daughter from a woman Nathan had met almost fifteen years ago,. His mother called Claire, Nathan's folly in Texas. He was still coming to terms with that, when his brother Peter, had quite literally vanished from the face of the Earth.

Nathan heaved a sigh and shuffled his feet on the pavement, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. "Peter, he muttered, "where the hell are you? IN the back of his mind, Nathan knew that Peter was an adult and could do as he please, within reason.

Peter, of late, believed in all manner of wild things, from believing that he could fly, that he could absorb other people's abilities. Nathan, shook his head, uncertain, even at this late date, which to believe.

It was only at that precise moment that Nathan realized with a shocked feeling like someone had sucker-punched him in the stomach in the midst of drunken bar-room brawl, that Peter's absence had affected more than he had realized.

Peter's absence was a void in his own life and a piece of his soul had been hollowed out. It hurt like hell, and he wondered, not for the first time, if there something more that he should be doing to solve the numerous pestering and confounding questions that confronted both himself and his family.

Back aboard the Serenity.

"The answer, is no, Simon said. "I'm the only one who cares for her enough to know what's best for her."

"That arrogance mixed with how much you care for River Tam, just might get you both killed one of these fine days," the Operative replied, giving away by neither tone nor voice inflection whether he was angry, disappointed, or relieved by the rejection of his offer. Instead he leaned forward and thumbed a button on his console, "You have a ten minute head start before I open fire. I suggest you take advantage of it." Good evening." And with that he terminated his end of the two-way ship-to-ship communication.

"This guy is nuts," Peter whispered.

'Nuts, or not, "Zoe replied. "we need to get out of here and find a safe place to land. His ship is state of the art, faster and has better weapons systems than others. "Go, tell Kaylee,' Mal nodded at her.

"You got it." And with that Zoe was off at a run for the engine room.

"Simon, take our friend, here, and later you can explain to me how he ended up on my ship. And please don't tell me that Kaylee is stowing away boyfriends on my boat, find yourself and our 'guest' a place to buckle up and sit out a spell," Mal ordered.

"All right, all right, I get it already,' Simon muttered, "Come on, Peter, let's do as the captain asks."

"Okay, but just for a nanosecond, " Peter said and paused to brush a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, and then continued. "I could have sworn that the guy recognized me, that he knew who I was and was coming for me."

Simon looked at him, dark brows arching in both curiosity and askance, "You must be paranoid, I know, I know the signs, hell, I've lived with them almost every day of my life, even before I rescued my sister from the Alliance, but let's discuss someplace where we won't have to do over the sound of laser fire, okay?"

"Okay?" Peter nodded. In the back of his mind, he thought, "Wheat the hell have I gotten myself into?"

It was quite possibly that he had managed to accidentally teleport himself to some wacky future where they kept crazy mental people aboard space ships.

'If that's the case," Peter realized with a start, 'he would fit right in amongst all the others, given the way my powers have been acting up of late.' Aloud he said. "This is going to be some ride.. Let's go."


	2. Ten Little Indians

Disclaimer: Heroes is the creation of Tim Kring and NBV Television as is Peter Petrelli and others who appear here or is mentioned. Firefly/Serenity is the creation of Joss Whedon; they do not belong to me. Notes: The story picks up shortly after where "Stubborn Like Shrapnel." left off..

"Ten Little Indians"" by Karen

Upon meeting the Captain Mal Reynolds for the first time Peter Petrelli had not been overly impressed with either the size of the ship or the appearance of the crew; both appeared a bit slipshod and jerry-rigged.

Under the circumstances one could not be too hasty to pass judgment. After all, in his time he'd been through a lot worse, which meant he would just have to make the best of things as he found them.

Peter cast about and wondering if they might have anything resembling alcohol or even something with a bit of flavor to it; hell, at this point he'd take tap water. He'd been a long time dry.

While he'd been pondering this Zoe Warren had been busy telling Captain Reynolds, at length; how she'd discovered him squeezed in to a vacuum- packed tight as a hermetically sealed shipping canister would allow.

"More than likely he's merely some stowaway, Captain," she added. "And should be treated accordingly."

Captain Reynolds nodded thing pondering the cryptic words of the Operative from their most recent encounter and his insistence for once on someone other than River Tam.

"Ease off, Zoe," I hear you loud and clear, but it seems to me we've gotta take this a might more seriously than merely handing this off at the nearest port of call and washing our hands of the matter."

Zoe, despite the obvious agitation and aggressive nature of her stance indicated that she was dancing around the central issue. She did not trust this latest in a long strong of unexpected hitchhikers. "If I might speak freely, Captain?"

Peter wondered if Zoe normally was this formal in her dealings with Captain Reynolds or if she was doing so in the presence of strangers.

Zoe was on edge, and truth to tell, they all were. Trust was a fragile two-edged thing. Mal had jumped to the aid of Peter Petrelli out of the his own instincts to help those in need and also out of a deep grained stubbornness to defy the Alliance at any and all offered opportunities and barring that; he could more than likely manufacture a few opportunities if other business slowed down enough. He was also intensely curious about Petrelli himself. He shook his head to clear it of the inevitable cobwebs and altered his stance on the table in the living area. Realizing with a start that nearly threatened to upset his precarious balance, his curiosity had again beaten out his suspicion. And to be honest, Mal did not much blame her. Petrelli could very well have been an Alliance spy

With that he pulled himself away from the wall and made eye contact with Zoe. "We keep him around for a while. Look I heard every word, duly recorded every doubt you harbor about our 'newest guest," he shrugged and then added. "Humor me, will you?"

Zoe sniffed and squaring her shoulders she turned around and leveled a dark-eyed glare in Peter's direction. "I don't have to like this, but hear me, you do anything, say anything to hurt anyone on this ship, and I will punch out your lights! Got it?"

Peter, for his part, was just beginning to warm up to this woman because she had a direct no-nonsense, feisty nature. With the exception of the part about punching out his lights; she at least made her intentions perfectly clear.

After everything that he'd been through, and it was anyone's gues exactly how many days or hours it had been. He was absolutely certain of one thing: he would rather remain conscious and aware of what going around him for the duration. "Got it."

Somewhat mollified Zoe turned on her heels and begun to walk toward the exit that lead another part of the ship. "Good. See that you remember that."

Mal offered Peter a tight off-center grin. "A piece of advice, Petrelli; most definitely unlooked for and unasked for, but if I were you. I'd stay out of her way for a spell."

"Understood," returned Peter with a shaky grin of his own in return. "Say, do you have anything to drink around here. I've been a long time dry."

Mal smiled and stomped over to a sideboard cupboard and yanked open its doors. "There's some whiskey and gin in here. But if you've no mind or stomach for strong drink, the cold stuff farther back. Help yourself."

"Thanks," said Peter and crossed over to do as suggested.

_Elsewhere_

She straddled the support beams of the cargo hold like a child at its first rock concert hanging out over the balcony seating; wide-eyed with excitement and wonder and her hair streaming out in the updrafts of air.

Forcing Peter to wonder if River is even aware of the distance that separated her from a long plunge to the deck beneath her precarious perch.

In her mind she was back in the classroom, although as a much younger self, all around her it was as if she stood in the foreground of a life-size painting, the background done in shell white, the remainder done in leaf-green.

She sat at her desk with her hand raised in the air to either ward off a blow or anxious to be the one to answer the question posed by the instructor.

River's thoughts are murky however the intensity of her stare is hypnotic and she can sense that this newest addition to the crew might very well be a source of potential trouble.

She glanced around the cargo hold in search of her brother's reassuring presence, his warmth, wanting him to make everything better and warmer but her brother is occupied elsewhere.

She's small but wiry, undoubtedly crazy and those big watery brown eyes when focused with full intensity have a creepy way of staring right through you. It's eerie and irritating at the same time. River is only partially aware of Peter's intent scrutiny. She is not certain what to make of him. It's not something she can put into words; well words that others like Mal, and her brother, and the others aboard would understand; She can usually read people, most , most people she can read, one way or other.

Sometimes her 'reads' on people are accompanied by scents, sounds, or sensations that indicate their mental states, or betray their intentions for good or ill; even a little of the history that accompanies them. With Peter, it's different.

Different, but in a good way. When he's around it's as if his mere presence allows the 'white noise in her head a much needed dampening field.

"Hey," greeted Peter in an off-hand tone. He recalls seeing this short petite dark haired girl when he first crashed on board but since then he could not recall seeing her around. He had thought be another passenger or something like, but when she suddenly met his gaze and stared at him with the intensity of a hawk target its prey; he realized that he had been mistaken on both counts. Peter felt, without knowing exactly how he knew, that she was so much more than that.

"Hey," replied River. "You want to know something? This is the lull before the storm. The eye of calm before it breaks."

"If you're trying to tell me that it will get worse before it gets better…" Peter shrugged, "I figured out as much on my own.

River offered him a tight-lipped grimace that passed for a smile. "You're different. Not like the others. I like you."

"Well, well," stammered Peter at a momentary loss for words before he managed. "Thanks for the warning."

"I could get used to having you around."

_***_

Jayne Cobb's boots clomp across the deck of the cargo bay as he crosses over to where shipping crates and various supply containers are stacked on pallets waiting to be unloaded. He does not mind the task all that much because it needs doing and it keeps his mind occupied; mostly from worrying over this latest snafu Mal's managed to get them mixed up in. In the distance he can't help but overhear the conversation taking place between River Tam and Peter Petrelli.

He must admit that he is a bit curious about what they might find in common to talk about, the Operative's demand that Petrelli be turned over to him personally notwithstanding. He supports Mal's decision to offer the guy safe haven on the ship for as long its feasibly possible, but all the same, sooner or later something is liable to come back and bite them on their collective kisters. When it did, Jayne Cobb wanted to prepared for it; or much as he could be.

Far above

A random phrase floats up from the murkiness that is her mind, something Simon would say, and something she believes that her newfound companions would appreciate. "You can't out run Death, but you can make the Bastard work for it." She does not realize that she has said this out loud. Jayne, overhearing the remark, drops the handles of the supply crate, looks up with those big, scarred hands planted on his hips. "You can say that again, girlie."A look River interprets as grudging regard in his dark moves away from the edge of the railing, walks towards the steps that lead down to the floor below and he waits for her to approach she does she barely comes up to his shoulder, but those eyes are hard to it is not the kind of turn on he usually gets in the presence of a pretty woman, it's creepy. "Keep on walking, preacher man." River says, "Ain't nothing to see here.""Just what the hell where you trying to prove up there, heh?" Jayne asks, exasperated by her odd behavior, "That you're not afraid of heights or something?"

"Or something, I like it up there, it's quiet." And besides even if I did fall you were here to catch me," she replied.

"You do realize that if that happened, we'd both get yelled at by the Captain," he remarked."Then you'd best make sure that doesn't happen," said River matter -of-fact and reasonable tone of voice than he had been accustomed to hearing her use before."Hell, what was that about outrunning Death?" he asked."I don't know why that came to me, all of a sudden" River shook her head and tangled, matted hair tumbled down around her pixie-like face and covered her eyes.

At that instant her eyes briefly lose their intent focus: "I was just thinking about the ship, and how that was the one spot of relative quiet among all that activity that must go one aboard. I was thinking how I don't really belong anywhere; and I just blurted it out."

Jayne grinned and then added: "I like it." Might make it the new crew motto." "Really?" River eyes go intent and bright again."Go see your brother," Jayne gripes, throwing up his hands in mock-disgust, "Maybe he'llhave better luck dealing with you."

River shrugged and uncoiled from her prone position on the railing and began to walk around to the entry to the level leading up to the living quarters.

After she had disappeared from view Peter asked the question he had been wrestling with since his first meeting with Captain Reynolds. "Tell me something, Cobb."

"Jayne, it's just Jayne," the big man hoarsely interrupted. "Yeah, what do you want?"

"Is it just me, or is everyone on this tub a might stir crazy?"

"More like a lot stir crazy, but then you've been here what, like seventy two hours now,. So is that really such a big surprise?"

"That wasn't what I wanted to ask, but it does lead into it," said Peter quietly. "What I wanted to know if I when, what did Reynolds call him? Wait, I've got it. The Operative showed up, would I have been better off going with him?"

"Nah, but I'm not really up on current Alliance politics. The Operative is their field agent, and I've heard tell that he's got enough clout, and connections to take certain liberties in the performance of his duties, if you catch my drift?"

Peter swallowed and nodded. "I get it. I think. What I don't get is why he would have known about me in the first place."

Jayne shrugged. "Hey, you don't have to tell me anything, but I suspect that Mal will want answers sooner rather than later."

****

Continued in Chapter 3: "All Your Tomorrows"


	3. All Your Tomorrows

Disclaimer: Firefly and the characters who appear here or are mentioned are the creations of Joss Whedon and various producers and the WB; etc; they are not mine.

Heroes is the creation of Tim Kring, NBC Television as the characters who appear here or are mentioned; again they are not mine and are only 'borrowed' for the purposes of the story. Notes: The story picks up shortly after where "Ten Little Indians" left off.

"All Your Tomorrows" by Karen

***

The man once known as Gabriel Gray, and through both circumstance and his own peculiar inclinations had effectively erased all memories and lingering traces of who and what that other individual had once been now considered himself thoroughly as Sylar, woke up on the hard=packed tiled floor of a large rather sparsely furnished

He blinked and fumbled at the carpeting with his fingernails feeling but not actually seeing as they came loose from the floor and slid around. A few seconds he rolled over onto his back and looked up the ceiling realizing without actually being aware that the pattern in the tiles had been replicated in the ceiling.

Sylar spit a wad of saliva onto the carpet in an attempt to rid himself of a taste of rusty nails in his mouth and sat up. His head ached and his muscles twitched with a none

subtle hint that it was protesting this sudden change in position; however he ignored the twinges and the various aches and pains of his body and forced himself to stand up. He reeled for a few seconds but managed to remain upright; and then began to take stock of his surroundings.

His initial impression of being in s sparsely furnished room had not been far off the mark for the room had been afforded or the bare minimal of furnishings, a metallic-looking wrap around desk that, a couch, and a table with a rather powerful looking laptop computer.

In addition to these items there was also a handful of chairs scattered around that appeared to have been added as afterthought instead of corresponding to any notion of interior design. Overall, the room and its furnishings gave off the overall impression that the room's owner went form function over form.

Sylar could appreciate that; in fact, he might well hold himself to the same standard, but that was when he was in the pursuit of own goals.

He shoved the thought to a back corner of his mind and strode over to see what else he could learn outside of his immediate surroundings and with a minimal of fuss figured out how to operate the computer..

He shrugged and continued to work; he had managed to bypass the various layers of the security protocols and had come upon a screen with the logo of something called the Alliance which had then prompted him to key an a password when an intruder alarm went off.

In the back of his mind, Sylar thought, "rather belated, but I suppose it was only a matter of time before my presence was noticed. If it matters, perhaps I should be irritated that they haven't noticed me prior to this.'

The Operative registered the intruder alarm in his own quarters as he registered everything else with the preternatural calm that he had garnered such a renowned and perhaps even well-deserved reputation.

He continued to march down the metallic corridors of the Alliance base on the planet Ariel. The armed platoon of soldiers following in lock-step in the rear. With a whispered word of command he dismissed them and they turned and left once he had reached the door to his quarters and keyed in the access code.

He turned his head slightly and watched them go. "Most likely it is nothing more than a computer malfunction, and even has managed to enter my quarters announced and unwelcome, well, they shall soon live to regret their foolhardiness; and if not, they can be easily dealt with.'

The Operative entered the room and immediately saw that someone was indeed there and seated in his chair in front of his computer; a human male approximately two meters in height, dark hair, dark eyes. That dark-haired head was at the moment bent over something that he had been studying on the computer screen, but had shot up like a cobra's head upon hearing his footsteps approaching.

There followed several intense seconds of mutual regard and sizing up. He had seen many, from the young to the old, react to his prescience, most had known when their number was up, known who he was, what he did in his capacity of serving the Alliance, whoever or whatever this man was he passed that initial few seconds of sizing up with remarkable calm and even, if he were to admit to no one else; a great deal of cool courage.

The dark-haired human male looked as if he had fought and survived more than a few battles in his time even if none of the wounds were immediately apparent.

"You are trespassing," the Operative said. His attention on the stranger never once wavering but at the same time he made certain that he would have immediate access to his weapons should the man draw a weapon or appear likely to attack. With a wave he silenced the intruder alarms.

"I had little choice in the matter," replied Sylar with a nonchalant shrug. "But under the circumstances it would seem that whereabouts are the least of my concerns."

"It is my duty to inform that breaking and entering is a crime, punishable by the sternest means possible under Alliance law," he replied.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I am known as the Operative."

"I am Sylar. He then burst out laughing' a harsh, grating, mocking sound that would not have been out of place on a jackal.

"I get the distinct impression that I have the honor of being in the presence of the judge, jury and executioner, " said Sylar when he finally brought his emotions and reactions once more firmly under his control.

The Operative shrugged and outwardly his stance never altered an iota. However, he mentally took another look at the younger man; that arrogant tilt to the head, the glint of intelligence and upon further reflection, a burning anger and a streak of violence that seemed only barely reined in by sheer force of will; this was no run-of-the mill intruder looking to hack into the Alliance database.

"Very well, Sylar. Give me one good reason why I should not shoot you on the spot?" he finally asked.

"Aside from my own vested interest in continuing my own existence, yes?"

"Aside from that." The Operative nodded and approached the other man, noting how the other reacted; 'Like a cornered tiger,' he thought.

"Because I think we can be of much further use to each other alive than dead," Sylar replied with a nonchalant shrug of his own that echoed that of the Operative from earlier.

The man was good,. Very good, he either knew who and what Sylar and was keeping any reaction from showing on his face or through his body language or he did not. Either way, there was every reason to milk this opportunity for everything it was worth; and no reason not to do so.

"Indeed," the Operative replied.

"Tell me what Project Ariel is, first and how to access more details about and I'll show you.

"A bargain?"

Sylar grinned. "A bargain. He pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up conscious all the time that the man had not taken his eyes off of him the entire time he had been in the process of shifting positions.

"As a matter of fact, " the Operative remarked, abruptly changing the lines of his questioning. "You do remind me of someone else of my recent acquaintance, a young man aboard a ship named "Serenity." Do you know a certain Peter Petrelli?"

For the first time the Operative saw shock, anger and surprise widen the deep set dark eyes. Sylar then added a terse. "I know him."

"Then we have something in common. I had contemplated going after and apprehending this young man and you might very well be useful to me in accomplishing that."

For his part Sylar nodded and allowed the smallest glimmer of darkly satisfied smile to crease his lips. "Agreed."

****

Mal had wanted answers in a powerful bad way, as he so quaintly put it, and Peter had done his best to provide them. The fact that he was still very much attempting to learn everything he could about his new environment and the fact that everything he had known in the past was gone or at least out of reach by at least several centuries had considerably hampered his ability to provide a coherent account of his presence in this particular time line.

Added to that was the fact that from the get-go he had been a proverbial fish out of water learning about his own unique abilities even as the tide of circumstances pushed and pulled him in different directions; along with the machinations of others, including those of his own family.

It had been difficult for Mal as well, but at least he had given his grudging consent to allow Peter to remain aboard ship. Peter felt he should be grateful that the man had not simply tossed him out the nearest airlock at worst, or at best left him on some remote planet to fend for himself.

Peter thought about that as he tied up the laces of his new leather boots Mal had loaned him to replace the worn-out shoes he had been wearing when he first appeared in the small, crowded but still quite adequate infirmary. In addition to the boots he had also been given spare clothing by the others. Now, almost three weeks later by his own reckoning, he had been at least tacitly accepted as an indefinite passage if not a member of the crew.

The door opened and River glided in, that was the only way to adequately describe the way she moved. He had been told and told by Mal and the other members of the crew that River was much more than she appeared; and in the space of the weeks had been aboard Peter had learned that for himself. Added to that was the fact the Simon Tam had made it quite clear that he did not welcome anyone making any advances toward his sister.

If she had been an ordinary girl Peter could well understand that Simon's somewhat obsessive compulsive need to protect his sister was well-placed.

The fact that she had been turned into some kind of 'weapon' by the Alliance, even more so. He could relate. The fact that he felt drawn to her as both a girl and as well, let's be honest with ourselves here, Pete, a fellow freak,' well, it's something we both have in common.'

"Hi," he said aloud when she paused at the entrance before entering all the way into the room.

"Hi," River whispered softly. She was not given much to thinking overly much for the reasons and motivations behind her actions; she was simply not wired that way, but somehow since Peter Petrelli had quite literally crashed into her life and by extension the lives of the others, without even realizing it he seemed to be able to provide a soothing counterbalance to the white noise inside of her head.

For his part Peter realized that he was not as uncomfortable around her. "You are so alone."

"It's okay, really," replied Peter. "I'm used to it."

"It's not good to be all the time alone. I can hear it, in their thoughts, movements, with and without words, I can hear, sense it, almost taste it."

"Does it hurt?" Peter could not have said what prompted him to ask that question, maybe it was the fact that he had training as a nurse even before he had known about people with extraordinary abilities, or maybe it was the fact that he suddenly wanted to reach and establish some kind of connection with this waif-like but dangerous little girl.

"Sometimes, but I think you have been hurt more than I have in some ways. I do not understand, not entirely, but it's there. I can see it in your eyes." River glided forward and sat down on the bed beside Peter, and there followed a minute or more of uncomfortable squirming and silence before River looked up into his eyes and their gazes locked and held before she added in a husky whisper. "Just hold me. Please.

****

**Interlude**

Inara Serra, going into the session would never have been able to adequately explain what had motivated her to take the action she had; given her training as a Companion and overall general impression about such things: in the dark were pretty much alike, until she had met Mal.

*****

Peter had long since stopped trying to figure out how the explosion over the skies of New York City had propelled at least several centuries into a future timeline where the Earth as he knew it had long since been depopulated and its former inhabitants had gone into space and settled on worlds such as the one where he had been enjoying listening to the tales told by the gentle but gruff old man introduced to him by Captain Mal Reynolds as Shepherd Book.

He had enjoyed nearly a whole afternoon's worth of storytelling, camaraderie, and relaxation, the good hearty meal of a beef broth soup warming his stomach and making a bit sleepy when the gentle night was interrupted by a rustling at the edge of the campsite.

The last person in the 'verse,' that Peter Petrelli had ever expected to see appeared out of the brush and into plain sight. Either oblivious or not caring at his being so utterly exposed. Standing behind his old enemy was the man the Firefly crew called the Operative.

"Peter Petrelli, I presume?" Sylar remarked, for all the world as if two strangers meeting for the first time in a coffee shop.

"You know this guy? Jayne Cobb rattled off scrambling to his feet as well.

"I know him," replied Peter in a hushed monotone. "Sylar. I thought you were dead or at least far, far, away."

River did not say anything merely stood up and dusted of the dirt and grime from her skirts. "In order to get at him, you must go through me."

"Hiding behind a women's skirts, Peter, tsk, tsk, I expected better from you," replied Sylar with a practiced sneer.

"How the hell did you get here," Peter demanded.

"By ship, just like you, but if you mean how did we both end up in this time," Sylar trailed off and shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest. And for the record I might ask the same of you, but at matters stand it hardly matters, does it?"

Peter heaved a sigh and realized that it really did not. In the back of his mind he was going over every detail of what he knew of Sylar's capabilities and talents and both the pros and cons of his last fight with the other man; and what each of them had taken away from that conflict.

"I guess not. What the hell do you want. If it's a rematch you're looking for," Peter shrugged and twisted his body slightly to one side affecting to give Sylar the impression through body language and his own tone that he did not give a damn one way or the other what his presence meant and then added. "You're wasting your time. I'm not interested."

"As much as I would enjoy a rematch, that is not what I'm here for." Sylar replied and then with gesture and an arupbt nod of his head. "It seems that even in the future you can managed to land yourself in rather prickly predicament. It seems that you are now a wanted man."

"What are you babbling about?" Peter demanded.

"You are under arrest." Sylar smirked.

"You have gotta be kidding me!" Peter turned around to stare directly at Sylar since the first time he had appeared. "Who in their right man would hire you to work on the side of law enforcement?"

"Danko for one. Do you remember him? Don't bother answering that. It seems that your presence has not been overlooked or forgotten," said Sylar and then folded his arms across his chest and waited for someone else to join him on the edge of the campsite. "There's a warrant out for your arrest and any of those who were found in your company, which include Simon and River Tam, and Captain Mal Reynolds and his crew.

"Do I at least get to know what I'm being charged with?" asked Peter.

"If you insist," replied a carefully modulated voice. "Well met again, Mr. Petrelli. It seems that I should have been more proactive in acquiring you upon our first meeting. Rest assured, I shall not make the mistake a second time."

"You bastard!," Mal Reynolds grated out in a harsh gasp as he scrambled to his feet with his side arm already drawn, aimed and sighted on the man know as the Operative; and given his history with the man Mal completely bypassed and ignored Sylar.

Had he been able to think through the anger that engulfed him at that particular moment Mal would have stopped to size up the odds, press Peter for more details about how and who this Sylar was and why he would ally himself with the Operative, however at the moment all Mal could see was the Operative and the need to gain some measure of satisfaction against his enemy.

Book restlessly stirred from his seated position around the campfire; even without understanding the particulars of the situation he had known Mal Reynolds long enough to know that in his present mindset the worst thing he could do was jump into the fray. Book stood up and placed one restraining hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Wait," he whispered in an undertone.

"Wait, for what?" asked Mal. "I, I am not certain. But I have the distinct feeling that the order for the arrest of the Tams is merely a reflex action on the part of the Operative."

"Damn Gorram,,, Mal muttered a string of curses in a mangled combination of Standard and badly accented Chinese never noticing that Zoe and Wash had come from gathering extra firewood to stand to take up positions beside him and Shepherd Book.

"Sir," Zoe added. "He might be right about that. Look, he's waiting for something else to happen. Whoever this Sylar is, he doesn't give a damn about River or the Doc."

"How do you mean?" asked Mal, some but not all of the tension slipping out of his tensely held frame like water through a sieve. As badly as he wanted to gain a measure of revenge for everything that the Operative had done to him over the years and perhaps through him for the way he felt about the Alliance, reason and common sense and his own sense of adventure outweighed his need to know what or who this fellow Sylar was and what he wanted with Peter Petrelli.

There was a connection here, a history, and Mal Reynolds was bound and determined to find out what it was; hopefully without annoying getting too badly roughed up in the process.

"It's been a long time, Peter, "Sylar remarked taking studied note of everyone else in the campsite. "I see you've managed all right for yourself.

"I guess."

"A part of my orders require that I inform you, in order yourself and those with you a world of hurt, is that you come quietly," replied Sylar with a nonchalant shrug. "If you resist or attempt to escape, well then, we will have no choice but to use force to subdue you."

"You're on the side of the law, What idiot hired you?" Peter demanded.

"He did," Sylar replied with a jerk of his head in the general direction of the Operative.

"Does he know.."?

"Of course he knows. I told him."

"What the hell are you talking about, Petrelli," demanded Zoe.

"It's complicated, and I'm not certain I have time to adequately explain it, but you'd all best clear away to a safe distance," replied Peter and then shrugged. In the back of his mind Peter realized that sooner or later he would be forced to chose whether or not to use/reveal his powers to his new friends. He had told Mal and the others enough to gain his place aboard ship, but they all knew that it might not last.

"Like me, like me," River muttered.

Sylar turned and said. "Do you plan to resist arrest?"

"He's goading you. Don't give him what he wants," advised Mal.

"I know, I know, Mal, but I don't think I have a choice.

Jayne shouldered past where Peter and his friends stood and hefted a large heavy gun over one shoulder.

He then locked and primed and aimed a energy beam at Sylar. As the bright beam of deadly light streaked across the distance that separated them Jayne muttered an oath as the hand that held the weapon was grazed by the rough surface of the metal casing as an invisible force wrenched out of his grip. Startled Jayne stumbled in a rough tussock of ground and feel over backwards.

The gun flew across the air, landed on the ground and finally vanished into a stand of rough ground cover. "Fool! Stay out of this!" Sylar hissed at the big man.

"What the hey?" Jayne muttered.

All the while Peter had his gaze locked on his old enemy. "Leave them out of this?"

"Agreed. Sylar nodded and the knuckles of his clenched fist began to glow with an eerie blue glow.

Peter stepped forward and his own hands began to glow blue. Before anyone could think to interfere or take any measures to stop this, the two began to exchange wild coruscating beams of blue energy that emanated from their hands; the effort of the expenditures of energy that the two opponents were expending evident from the expressions on their faces, the set of their shoulders and how they held themselves.

Streaks of light that went wide of the intended mark bounced and caromed off rocks and boulders, and every once while as they made contact with rough stands of dry grass, set fire to the ground cover.

"Hot Damn, " Wash muttered under his breath at one point when the combatants without a word being exchanged had agreed by mutual consent to take a breather. "I see it, but I still don't believe it."

River smiled and said. "let the truth dazzle gradually, or all men be blind. It is like two sides of the same coin: heads or tails."

"They're too evenly matched," muttered Zoe.

Peter recovered first and waited for Sylar to stagger to his feet only partially conscious of the commentary and opinions of his friends who had taken up a position of relative safety where they also had a good vantage to watch the fight.

He cursed under his breath, when he had finally come to terms with his life and his newfound powers both back in his own world and now this brave new world: it seemed the powers that be conspired to bring the one foe he would be fated to fight again and again. Perhaps Zoe was right in her assessment: they were too evenly matched and Sylar would finally succeed in killing him. Or worse, he would take him to be studied like a lab rat under the orders of his new employers, the Alliance.

In the back of his mind Peter came to the realization that scenario might actually be worse than dying.

With that thought preying on him, Peter abruptly made the decision to change tactics and stopped hurling electric energy bolts and run forward in the manner of a line backer in the midst of a full blitz and tackle Sylar around the waist and then let go, shoving him with every bit of strength he could muster under the circumstances.

"Thank you, Dr. Suresh," Peter muttered under his breath.

Startled at both the suddenness and the force of the blow Sylar was hurtled backward until he came up to fetch up against the trunk of a tree. "Took me by surprise," he muttered when recovered his breath and staggered to his feet.

When came back into the campsite he discovered that the Operative was in the midst of explaining that that this had been merely a fact-finding mission and that while the warrant for the arrest of the Tam was still outstanding he would be willing to overlook it."

"What are you doing?" Sylar demanded.

"My job," the Operative replied.

"Well, it seems to me that you're not doing it very well. By your admission and the data file we have on them, that one if not both are wanted fugitives, replied Sylar.

"As for your, 'friend." Let us just say I will have to consult with my superiors as what is to be done with him. You say there were many more like yourselves where you hail from?"

"Yes," replied Peter with a gasp. "However, I very much doubt the information will do either you or the Alliance much good. Our being here must be some kind of temporal fluke, but don't ask me to try and explain any further beyond that. I am, or was an paramedic; time travel gives me a massive headache."

"Indeed." For now, you will remain aboard the Serenity"

"I don't need some high muckety-mucky yes-man for the Alliance to dictate terms to me," interrupted Mal.

"Those are my terms, Captain Reynolds." The Operative turned to the fuming brown-cloaked, brown-haired man. "I strongly suggest you accept them."

For a few tense seconds Mal appeared more inclined to attempt to shove the terms back as far as he could, chewing his lower lip, but at last with a quick jerk of his head, Mal replied. "Agreed. But for the record, I do not have to like it."

*******

**Conclusion **

"I saw it with my own eyes, and I still don't believe it," remarked Wash to Zoe a day or so later after the dust-up between Peter Petrelli and the man he had named Sylar.

"Relax, hon," said Zoe. "Sure it was weird but I honestly don't think Peter would turn on us."

"How do you know that," demanded Wash.

"I couldn't say exactly," replied Zoe, "You could just chalk it up to woman's intuition and leave it at that."

"Darndest sight my eyes have ever beheld, and I've been out in the Black a lot longer than you have, pup, and I can tell you that I've seen a lot of strange things, but guys shooting electric blue lighting at each other, and moving stuff around just by thinking about it; nah, aint' never seen anything like that before," Jayne Cobb interrupted.

Continued in chapter 4: "Always Darkest Before the Dawn"


End file.
